Episode Tag 7x06: Green Light
by kykkio
Summary: What does a broken blue cup mean?


**I do not own The Mentalist**

Tag 7x06: Green Light

Patrick Jane had never been a sentimental person. Sentimentalism was for marks, he reminded himself in the dim light of the dawn.

When he was young, so young that his life depended on the wishes of others, his father had made a point saying that he had to grab all he could in life, as fast as he could. And then run away with the stolen goods. Nothing stayed, you could only be a boy dressed as a boy scout for so long. There was always a next game, a next con. It would never end.

Later, when he took the reins of his own life, as an adult, far away of his father's wishes, he just wanted to shine, to play a part, to be bigger than the others. Being the smarter guy of the room made it appalling easy. And he always knew he was this smarter guy. He had wanted to run away, to form a happy family on his own. But he wanted the spotlight too, it was what he did best after all. The only thing he knew how to do.

Why to keep things, if he could just buy new ones? Flashier, shinier, more expensive. He had to look the part after all. It was necessary.

And then… for once he had to reckon his father had been right after all.

Nothing stayed.

He even lost his life for 12 long and dark years. He had been dead. Trapped. He had kept all then, his suits, his shoes, his house. But not for sentimentalism. Far from it. For punishment. He wanted to stay stuck. Forever. In that dreadful night that took all away from him. He would be in this limbo, never forgetting. He had to remember as clearly as he could. What was the point of being dead if he couldn't remember what it was having been alive? But just as a reminder that his life was not a life, that he didn't deserve anything. Not for wanting a life back.

And then _when,_ _if_ was never a possibility, he succeeded his reward would be to stop feeling at last.

Of course Teresa had to come to make his half-life bittersweet. Painfully appealing, appallingly worth living.

He started to want again. But he couldn't. He was not free. That was the thing with the limbo. He had sold his soul to a goal, he could not _want._ Besides he thought he was unable of any feeling that wasn't revenge and pain and hatred. She had proved him wrong.

In that moment his mind, always the smarter in the room, started to treasure. And since he didn't allow himself to want anything, it started to treasure moments, memories. And it all started with her, it was her fault. He looked at her and craved.

Her broad smile when she received a pony for her birthday. It had been just for fun not because he cared, he couldn't care, he didn't have this feeling anymore…. until he told her in that shipping crate that he would always save her.

Her happy tears when he proved her innocence by tricking her shrink. It was not because he wanted her happy, what was happiness after all? and then… telling Madeleine Hightower that he was less happy when she was unhappy.

His comfort in her breathing on the phone, knowing O'Laughlin hadn't succeeded… comfort… such a foreign word at that time. He didn't even come with an excuse then. Because it was comfort and joy, and he could _feel_ it. But… it wasn't as foreign as he thought it would be, because little by little his treacherous mind had been treasuring these moments of happiness, steps, for when he was ready to accept them. And of course his mind always knew better.

He had started to think in possibilities then, in afters, even in happy endings although much later. But he had forbidden himself to think like this for so long, that he was scared, not knowing what to do with these newfound feelings. Burying them deep down. A burden. He didn't need them… right?

But he was stubborn too. He wanted his revenge, nobody would take it away from him. He was doing it for them, he had promised. But as the time went by he started to do it for him too. He needed peace, his heart was exhausted and his soul was a dark and frightening place even for him. But Teresa wanted them anyway, wanted him. She seemed to believe there was someone under this darkness who deserved to be saved. And who was he to deny her anything? He was expecting she would see it different if, and that was an _if_ definitively, he could pick up the pieces to offer them to her. Just the pieces, because he thought they were scattered beyond repair.

Then the nightmare ended and he felt empty.

Vacuum.

Nothing.

And then his mind, in his exile, little by little, started to supply him with these moments, thoughts, pieces. Flashing green eyes, a quiet conversation in a dark attic, a small and strong hand holding his in a desert, or was the other way around?, a blue cup of tea shared with a coffee on a couch late at night.

He had been healing…just… he couldn't accept it back then. The pieces started to glue together long before he realized it. He was not ready to see it then, but he was now. Sometimes he felt as if the result of it all was still fragile. Just one blow, a word and it would crump down to those same pieces.

How could he be sentimental if all could fall apart again?

Jane exhaled loudly and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring trough the window in Lisbon's kitchen. The birds would start to sing soon, the soft light of the sun rising between the clouds signaling the end of the night.

The cold was seeping trough his bones and he held his blue little cup with both hands, trying to get some of the warmth of his fresh tea into his body. The house was so calm at this hour, when the sun rose the first room reached by its rays would be where he was. He had witnessed it many times since he started spending nights there. His insomnia had improved but still…

Brushing his blue cup with a fingertip, following slowly one of the cracks, he still couldn't believe what Lisbon had given to him. As if she hadn't given him enough already.

It was just a cup, he reminded himself, but his fingers couldn't stop caressing its crevices. It was reminiscence of old times, dark times. But instead of this, he only remembered the good times with Lisbon. He supposed it was because she had given it to him.

She had kept the pieces for two years even if it was worthless, what's the use of a broken cup after all?, and then had glued them together again. He didn't fail to see the analogy.

"Hey"

Jane raised his head to see a very sleepy Lisbon rubbing her eyes under the doorframe and answered softly, matching her tone.

"Hey yourself"

Lisbon padded softly inside, barefoot, her little frame in an oversized pajama tops that covered her until mid-thigh, her long hair an adorable mess. She rested her forearms on the counter, beside where he was standing, and nudged him with an elbow, nodding towards his hands.

"You're the only one I know that instead of a toothbrush packs a cup"

Jane snorted briefly, tilting his head, and leant on the counter next to her, their arms almost touching, one hand still holding the cup protectively.

"I like my gift"

"I was expecting you to bring it to the bullpen"

Jane opened his mouth and inhaled ready to answer but closed it again, following a crack unconsciously with a finger, he didn't know what to respond. Well he knew, but it was stupid. His gentle movement didn't go unnoticed.

"The glue is very good, I did a thorough job. And besides the cup is very resilient itself"

Jane shrugged not looking at her and she bumped her shoulder against his playfully. Her voice was soft, almost a caress.

"And if it breaks I could fix it again"

Jane tilted his head to look at her, her eyes caring, fixed in his, a soft smile playing on her lips. He doubted "I'm a little afraid…that if it breaks again, it won't be fixed"

"Then… I'll buy you another one. Would it be so terrible if it's different?" She asked softly.

Jane pondered the apparently innocent question when he felt Lisbon's fingers in his hand, her thumb caressing his knuckles, their arms touching as she rested part of her weight on him. Of course Lisbon knew something was bugging him even if she didn't know what…the fact was that he didn't know himself "I guess not… if it's you who give it to me… in fact… this one is not exactly as it was"

Lisbon arched an eyebrow "How so?"

He placed the teacup carefully and half shrugged with a little smile, his gaze intense on her.

Taking her hands from the counter, lacing his fingers with hers, he turned her until she was facing him, with the other hand pushing a rebel dark lock behind her ear. He could get lost in these green eyes.

"It's still early. Let's try to sleep some more" He murmured, tugging at her hand guiding them back to the bedroom.

The blue cup could wait. He had the real deal in his arms now.


End file.
